Poseidon's Bookkeeper
by ChaosandMayhem
Summary: A collection of drabbles and oneshots, featuring all characters and all situations, mostly based on stuff from the Broken Compass forum!
1. Booty

First story inspired by the prompt "Booty" over at the Broken Compass forum!

A/N: Kinda stole this idea of collaborating all drabbles and oneshots from FreedonofTheSeas, Nytd, and -funfunfun! Credit goes to them! XD

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters, so on and so forth...

Pintel and Ragetti's conversation as they steal the Dead Man's Chest:

* * *

"An eye what fits and is made o' glass!"

Ragetti beamed at the thought, and Pintel scowled. "Is that all yeh think about?"

"Yeh would ta, if yeh was missin' an eye!" Ragetti snapped back.

Pintel looked down at the chest in between them and grinned. "This 'as got ta be the greatest booty we've uncovered yet! Once we sell it, yeh can buy _four_ glass eyes!"

Ragetti's face lit up at the thought, but a sudden thump from inside the chest made both pirates jump.

Pintel's smile faded. "Maybe it's only worth three."


	2. Dying

Another Pintel and Ragetti fic, this one a tad more serious than the last...

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

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In the darkness of the forecastle, surrounded by snores and sleepy murmurs from the others, one pirate shifted, unable to sleep because of the thoughts dancing through his brain. And there was only one way to relieve himself of these thoughts.

"Pint?"

A set of yellowed eyes, laced with annoyance, opened up and locked their furious gaze on the slim fellow in the hammock nearby. "Wot?"

"Wot do yeh reckon it's loike?"

"Wot?"

"Dyin'."

Pintel frowned. "Rags, we've been dead before."

"No we ain't." Ragetti pressed. "We was the livin' dead. There's a difference."

"I dunno!" Pintel rolled over so he didn't have to pay attention to Ragetti. "Go ask Cap'm Sparrow. He got swallowed by the Kray-ken."

"It's pronounced Krak-en!" Ragetti's voice was annoyed. "Yeh got ta say it roight!"

"Woteveh!" Pintel said. Why couldn't the lad just let him sleep? "Get ta sleep."

Minutes of blessed silence took over, and Pintel sighed heavily, pleased he'd be able to get some sleep…

"Pint?"

Pintel's eyes snapped open. "Wot do yeh want!?" he snarled.

"If I died, would yeh miss meh?"

Pintel was silent. His gut twisted into an intricate knot as the image of Ragetti, collapsed on a blood-soaked deck, his hands grabbing at the new hole in his face, sobbing hysterically…

"No. I wouldn't miss yeh, because I'd finally be able ta get some bleedin' sleep!" he snapped, hoping that Ragetti would miss the small tremor in his voice.

After a moment of quiet, there came Ragetti's reply, his voice satisfied: "I'd miss yeh too, Pint."

* * *

Reviews are appreciated!


	3. Norrington's Angel

A Norrington fic! Whoop! =P

A/N: Dedicated to damsel-in-stress, my awesome reviewer! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

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James Norrington didn't believe in angels. He didn't believe in any sort of that fluffy stuff, stuff that couldn't be proven by touching and seeing.

But, he had to admit, there had been something looking over his shoulder during the fight with undead pirates, lending him strength and determination---and perhaps, although he wouldn't admit it, he had felt a small, comforting squeeze on his shoulder when Elizabeth had chosen that wretched blacksmith over him

He would never have told anyone this, but there seemed to be someone guiding his steps as he staggered along in a drunken line down the streets of Tortuga.

And then there was that slight, disapproving _tsk_ behind him as he handed the heart of Jones over to Beckett.

And he would have _never_ admitted to hearing a small murmur in his ear, convincing him that setting Elizabeth and her crew free was the right thing to do.

But, as his blood pooled out onto the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_ and darkness ringed his vision, Norrington felt a warm, steady hand grasp his own tightly.

Perhaps there was something to the business of angels after all.

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Hope you liked it! Reviews, please and thanks!


	4. Wait

Starring Ragetti and Glory, my OC!

A/N: Inspiration came from Nytd, who demanded to know what ever happened to Ragetti's proposal...suffice to say this is a missing segment from "You Get Credit For Trying"...planned to have it, wouldn't fit with storyline...

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

* * *

Glory paused, biting down ferociously on her already chapped lips. "You're not joking, are you?"

Ragetti looked baffled and hurt. "Why would I do that?"

Glory shrugged, still looking at her hand. "So, this is real, then?"

"Might take awhile." Ragetti said softly. "'cause we'd 'ave to, yeh know, make arrangements and stuff…"

Glory glanced up, smiling through her tears at the dubious tone in Ragetti's voice. "I'm prepared to wait." she held up her hand, admiring the ring that flashed in the sunlight. "Mrs. Glory Ragetti. Has a nice ring to it."

* * *

I'm defiantly not going to be holding that ceremony in a rain storm!


	5. Explanation

Dedicated to hurricane1714, my steadfast and wonderful reviewer! Thanks so much!

A/N: Hmmm...angsty Will seems to be the only kind of Will I can stand. Odd, innit? Fortunately, Will has enough angst to go around!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

* * *

He didn't want to believe it.

He didn't want to see the truth, staring him straight in the face with sorrowful eyes and a tear-streaked face.

But he had to face it.

He had seen Elizabeth embrace Jack, her arms entwining themselves around his body, pushing him up against the mast with her force.

What kind of hold did Jack have over her? Had he twisted her mind and corrupted it so thoroughly with fanciful thoughts of pirates and all their short-lived glory that she now loved Jack instead of him? Was that why she cried silently now?

Where had he failed her? What aspect of Jack had she deemed better than his?

No, he couldn't doubt her like this. There had to be another explanation.

But as Will drove his knife deeper into the wooden table, he scowled, holding back the urge to spin around and demand answers from the one he thought was his beloved.

There was _no_ other explanation.

* * *

Do I support Sparrabeth? Not really. Do I support Willabeth? Sometimes. _Ragabeth!_ Now that's something I'd like to see! XD

Hope you enjoyed, Hurricane!


	6. Justice

Drabble response to the prompt "Justice". Bit more than a drabble, but I suppose it can be forgiven.

A/N: Slash if you're squinting

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

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Justice.

Once, once a long time ago, he had been sure of what justice meant. He was sure he had stood for justice.

Now, Admiral James Norrington swallowed hard as he watched "justice" be delivered.

Beckett glanced at him in amusement. "Something wrong, Admiral?"

James shook his head silently, even as his eyes watched the body of the small boy swing from the gallows. Beckett followed his gaze, his evil smirk growing. "A minor causality of war, James. I thought one such as yourself, with your impressive record, would understand what that was."

James shook his head. "Never have I seen justice carried out in this fashion, Cutler."

Beckett's smirk lessened at the tone in James' voice. "I'm sorry about this, James. But the boy was just one small ash in the fire of existence. His death doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things."

James merely nodded. "I see, sir."

Beckett turned back to the massacre, mere interest in his cool eyes.

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Reviews, please and thanks!


	7. Virtues and Vices

Tra-la-la-la! Another drabble, this time from the prompt "Virtues and Vices".

A/N: Heavy slash. Sorry if you don't like slash...

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

* * *

He had no good virtues about him. He did not possess honesty, or mercy, or goodness in any shape or form. Greed and a lust for power drove his life, and that was it.

It was a mystery to James Norrington as to why he was so attracted to Lord Beckett. And why Beckett was attracted to him. They were darkness and light, earth and water, two separate entities that were never meant to be joined.

And yet…

Perhaps it_ was_ because they were the opposites of each other. Virtues could not survive without vices. And vices could not survive without virtues.

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Hope you liked!


	8. Graveyards

Response to the prompt "Graveyards". Enjoy!

A/N: Not a drabble. Got carried away!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

Genre: Tragedy

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**Alone**

He uttered a single, anguished cry.

One.

It scared Pintel, that single cry. If Ragetti had been whimpering, or even allowing a series of steady moans, the older pirate would have brushed it off as a mere nightmare. But that choked, strangled sound, one that was matched only by the last hurrah of a dying animal, had been very un-Ragetti-like indeed.

The others continued to snore away, careless in their own dreams. Carefully, quietly, so not as to disturb anyone, Pintel rolled out of his hammock and crept over to Ragetti's. "Rags?" his voice was hoarse and more gravelly than usual. "Rags? Are yeh alright?"

Apparently, he was not. Ragetti was a light sleeper by nature, and if the gentle sound of Pintel's whispering did not wake him, something was wrong. Further more, the one-eyed pirate's breath came in shallow gasps, and his hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead.

Frightened, Pintel shook his nephew roughly. "Rags, wake up!"

Finally, the macabre spell cast over Ragetti was broken. He jerked awake, one hand going to the sword that wasn't there. "Hey—I—wot?—Pint!"

One blue eye and another brown one latched onto Pintel, wide and frightened. Ragetti swallowed hard, breathed fast. "Pint—yeh, yeh not d-dead…"

"Course I'm no' dead!" Pintel exclaimed. It was then he noticed Ragetti's hands were shaking violently, and his good eye filled with tears. "Oh no!" he began to back away. "Don't yeh go cryin' on meh, Gabriel Ragetti—"

It was too late.

Ragetti, the fierce pirate, had started to sob quietly. Pintel tensed, fearful that the lad might look to him for a shoulder to cry on. After a moment, however, he edged backwards to his nephew. "Wot was the nigh'mare about, Rags?"

"Everyone was dead…" Ragetti whispered. "Ever'body I knew. Yeh, Poppet, Turner, Barbossa, Sparrow, Mister Gibbs…even the monkey 'ad go' 'imself kilt!" he shuddered. "And, I were alone…alone by yer grave, and I was so scart! Not 'cause o' the grave…'cause I were alone, wifout anybody ta be wif…I don't wanna be alone, Pint!"

Pintel sighed heavily. "Rags, yeh ain't never gonna 'ave ta be alone."

Ragetti looked up swiftly, sniffling.

"Yeh jus' not the type ta be alone." Pintel explained. "Yeh just attracted peoples."

His efforts were rewarded with a wobbly smile. "Yeh fink so, Pint?"

"I know so." Pintel nodded. "Now, dry them tears an' get back ta sleep."

Ragetti nodded and laid back down, happy once more.

............

Three days later, Pintel was dead from an EITC agent's bullet, and Ragetti found himself standing by a grave.

Very, very alone.

* * *


	9. Chaos!

Chaos gets to write about chaos! YAY! :) After the last two unpleasant chapters, I thought I could lightened the mood a bit!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

Genre: Humor

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**Birthday Parties**

Birthday parties were, in and of themselves, the most frenzied, most delightful times of an eight-year-old boy's life. And if the boy happened to surrounded by pirates, so much the better.

There was Pintel and Gibbs, passed out drunk, and Ragetti, telling a grand tale of Krakens and their slayers to a group of avid listeners. Marty and Cotton had been engaged in a battle of chess, until Cotton's parrot—a tad dizzy from a great deal of liquor—knocked the board upside down. Now, the pint-sized pirate and the mute were arguing fiercely.

Uncle Jack and Grandpa Hector were fighting, as usual. Apparently, Uncle Jack had been boasting that he could outdo Grandpa in any sort of contest, and now both men were stuck trying to put their feet behind their ears while attempting to seduce a bonnie lass—as they whistled "Hoist the Colors".

Young William III yawned widely, and his mother smiled. "Having fun?"

Will beamed and nodded. It was utter chaos, and that was the way he liked it.

* * *


	10. A Challenge!

For this week, FreedomoftheSeas suggested that we do something out of the ordinary--challenge each other with different prompting questions! Her question for me was, naturally, "How did Pintel and Ragetti tie each other to the mast in AWE?" It wasn't an easy question to answer, believe me.

A/N: Some might recognize Annie "Finch" Sparrow, Jack's cousin and the family member he likes least, from my fic "Taking Chances". Isaiah is not an OC--he is the Chaplain. Although, they never go in-depth with his character, so I gave him all of his personality traits...so, does that make him an OC? Hmm...*goes to take Tylenol for developing headache."

I apologize for the following fic. I really do.

Genre: Humor

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**Gravity, My Dear Isaiah**

"You want me to do what?!"

Finch looked from one eager face to the other, trying to decide who the bigger idiot of the pair was.

Naturally, it was a tie.

Ragetti held out the rope. "Tie us ta the mast, upside down, so when the boat flips we'll be the roight way up!"

Finch cocked an eyebrow. There were more holes in that logic than there holes in a beggar's shoes! Still…she glanced around the deck, watching Jack, Barbossa, and the others attempt to flip the _Pearl_. She turned back to Ragetti with the slightest of smirks. This could prove to be quality hilariousness, providing neither Pintel nor Ragetti died in the course of action. Besides, who was she to refuse Ragetti's pleading look?

"FINE!" Finch made a big show of throwing her hands into the air and huffing, but that didn't stop Ragetti from almost tackling her into a hug. She stalked over the mast and studied it. "How are we going to do this…" her voice trailed off as Pintel stood upside down on his palms, balancing quite well despite the increasing unsteadiness of the ship. "What…"

Ragetti shrugged. "We did a lo' o' acrobatin' in our days." He beamed.

"Oh...kay."

Ragetti wrapped his skinny arms around Pintel's undeniably rotund tummy and struggled to pick him up. Finch couldn't help herself—she burst out laughing at the ludicrous site. Some way or another, the scrawny lad managed to pick up his heftier uncle and press him firmly—still upside down—against the mast. Quickly, still giggling madly, Finch sprang forward with the rope. She wrapped it around Pintel securely, double-knotting it to be sure.

Then, Ragetti turned to her. Finch's eyes went wide. "Oh no! I don't care how skinny you are…"

**................**

Isaiah stopped in the middle of deck, his eyes widening. Pintel and Ragetti were both tied to the mast—upside down, of all things! Finch stood before them, hands on her hips, and biting down on her lip to keep from sniggering.

Curious, Isaiah walked over, trying to keep his balance. "Do I want to know?"

"You don't have to know!" Finch beamed. "Just watch. After all, it's only gravity."

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A/N: I remember reading somewhere(although I can't remember where) at one point Pintel and Ragetti worked as street performers. So, I just decided to incorporate that into my fic...at least to explain how they managed to get upside down.

Anyways...*goes off to wash odd image of Ragetti picking up upside down Pintel off brain*


	11. Another Challenge!

Another challenge! This one was from Nytd, who so willfully commisioned: **"A fic involving the conversation that Barbossa has with Ragetti when he gives him the eye for safe keeping. You must use the following 5 words. Existential, goat, flabbergasted, topgallant, and sex."**

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of it's wonderfully characters...

Genre: Humor

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**Me Eye!**

Privately, Ragetti thought the beard made Captain Barbossa look like an old goat, but he never would have breathed that opinion to another soul, not even Pintel—lest it get back to Barbossa.

The newly one-eyed pirate was standing before Barbossa in his cabin, trying not to fidget but failing. A partially-clean rag was wrapped around the right side of face—covering the fresh hole in his face.

Barbossa watched the awkward young fellow. Was this the best decision? Absolutely not. But did he have another choice? No. Ragetti was a relatively nice person—far too nice to be a pirate, in the opinion of many—and he was trustworthy. "Lad," he began finally. "I suppose ye are confused in the matter as to why I summoned ye to my cabin this fine evein'."

Ragetti nodded quickly.

"Recently, I've found meself with a certain item of interest, and ye seemed to be the only one I can trust to keep it safe."

Ragetti's brow furrowed, not quite comprehending. Him? Keep something safe? Pintel didn't even trust him with a knife! He glanced around dully, certain this was a dream. He even pinched himself twice, but all the accomplished was making him wince.

Barbossa walked around to face Ragetti, plastering a smile onto his face. He reached into his pocket and withdrew…a wooden eyeball.

Ragetti stared at the eyeball, flabbergasted. "Wot—an eye?"

"_Your_ eye." Barbossa corrected.

"Me eye." Ragetti murmured, dazed. Slowly, he took it from Barbossa and studied it. He grimaced, and Barbossa noticed. The captain angled his head in a silent demand for an explanation. Ragetti sighed. "Well, it's a lovely gift an' all, bu' I don't fink it's goin' ta be attractin' any bonnie lasses an' time soon…"

Barbossa cocked an amused eyebrow. "Lad, that's implyin' ye had a decent sex life to begin with."

Ragetti turned a furious red. "I jus' don't fink I'm qualified…"

Barbossa resisted the urge to maim the fool. Instead, he chose a different approach: "Mister Ragetti, it's yer existential duty to carry this for me."

Ragetti studied the wooden eyeball. "Existential duty…" he whispered. He didn't know what that meant, but it sure sounded important! He whipped off the rag and popped the wooden eyeball into the socket, albeit with an unpleasant _squelch!_

Barbossa clapped him on the back.

And showed him the door.

Pintel was waiting for him by the door. "Wot the 'ell is that?" he exclaimed when he saw Ragetti's new ornament.

Ragetti beamed. "Me existential duty!"

"Yer daft." Pintel muttered, slapping him upside the head.

The wooden eye came bounding out, and Ragetti bellowed, diving after it as it bounced merrily along the deck of the _Pearl_. Jack the Monkey, having heard the commotion and deciding to add to it, came scurrying down from the topgallant. He snatched the eye up in his furry little paw, chattering excitedly, and bit down on it hard.

Ragetti howled as he saw what Jack was doing. "ME EYE!"

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=P I had fun writing this. Maybe to much fun! By the way, I hope I used "existential" in the same context Nytd was expecting...there were three defintions!


	12. Port

I almost sat this week's out because I couldn't find any inspiration---and then came along Freedom, with her alternative prompt: **Port **At first, I didn't have anything, but then...a bunny! So thanks, Freedom! This one goes out to you!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of it's wonderful characters...

Genre: Humor/General

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**Proper Sailor**

"Lad." Pintel said gruffly, walking down the dock with a scowl, "there's only one way yer gonna learn 'ow ta be a right proper sailor."

Behind him, a scrawny young boy looked at him with wide eyes. "'ow's tha', Uncle Pint?"

"Pintel!" The older snapped. "Jus' Pintel. I ain't gonna be called no uncle. Yeh understand, Ragetti?"

Young Ragetti looked up at him and nodded. He glanced around the dock with a curious expression. "Unc…I mean, Pintel, wot are we doin' 'ere?"

Pintel grinned wickedly. "The first rule ta bein' a sailor is tha' yeh go' ta know 'ow ta swim."

Ragetti's eyes went wide and his mouth opened in a slight "o". He took a step backwards as he realized his uncle's intent, but the bigger and stronger Pintel merely lifted him up by the scruff of his neck and tossed him into the water.

Ragetti surfaced with a howl, struggling to stay afloat. People looked his way causally, but they were inhabitants of Tortuga, and had become rather callused against the odd sights they sometimes saw.

"Pint—Pintel!" Ragetti spluttered, flailing his arms wildly. "Help meh!"

"Help yerself." Pintel crouched. "I won't always be 'round, lad."

Ragetti wailed but swam as best he could to grab the wood of the dock. He pulled himself up quickly, gasping for breath. He then shot a look at Pintel—if eyes were weapons, the older man would have dropped dead.

Instead, he merely grinned. "No' bad. Let's see yeh do it again…with rocks in yeh pockets."

Understandably, Tortuga swiftly became the port Ragetti hated the most.

* * *

Poor Rags...I bet he's had to go through so many hazings in his lifetime...

Alright, because I feel like breaking out of my comfort zone(Ragetti, Pintel, Norrington, and Beckett), my next drabble, regardless of the prompt, shall be either a Barbossa or a Davy fic! So heads up, lads!


	13. A Wedding Present

XD Here's a "wedding present" for JackySparrowsRum, for her upcoming marriage to Davy Jones. ;P If this doesn't make sense, you haven't been hanging around the Broken Compass forum or, more specifically, The Complete Random and Idiotic thread! Enjoy if you dare!

WARNING! (Almost) SHAMELESS SELF-INSERTION!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything!

* * *

For a dream, this was a pretty vivid one. Maybe that leftover chicken salad had been in the fridge longer than I had calculated. Were hallucinations a side effect of food poisoning?

I was standing on the deck of the Flying Dutchman, and it still looked and smelled like it belonged to Davy Jones. And by smell, I mean the icky rotten fish smell that makes your stomach turn. There were cans tied to the stern, clattering noisily in the wind. Dazed, I began to inspect my surroundings. _Holy flying figs!_ The deck of the FD had been transformed into a sort of outdoor wedding chapel, complete with tables and chairs and that little white arch that the bride and groom stood under.

_A wedding? _

I now glanced down at myself—and was shocked. I was pretty sure I had been wearing a black tee and blue jeans, but now I was dressed in a two piece with a white top and pale lavender skirt. It looked pretty, sure, but—

"Chaos! Wot are yeh doin' standin' 'round? Yeh got ta get ready!"

I spun around at the familiar voice. Standing right there in front of me was, of all people, Ragetti!

He was looking at me with a frown. "Yeh alright, Poppet?"

Ragetti was calling me Poppet! YES! I nodded vigorously. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Hey, in these kinds of situations, you always go with the flow. By Ragetti, I could spot Pintel—and Sylar? When did he get here? I spun on my heel, surprise and shock trickling down into my system as I realized every fellow who had ever come into conversation at the Broken Compass forum was here.

Nytd and Barbossa's Monkey were here, chatting pleasantly with Barbossa. Tina and Tarlea were tossing conversation back-and-forth easily with Siren, who looked nervous as she twisted a Bible around in her hands. Damsel was fawning over Norrington completely—the Commodore looking both amused and surprised.

Freedom was tossing back a bottle of rum with Jack as they shared stories. Belphegor, Dr. Sugar and Biscuits came up around Ragetti with giggles. In fact, there were only two people I did **not** see: One was Elizabeth—but judging by the gleeful expressions on the faces of Hurricane and Raiths, who were edging closer to a bemused Will, I suspected poor Lizzie may not make it to the wedding.

The other was Jacky. I glanced around, certain that she had to be here. "Damsel…where's Jacky?"

Damsel managed to look my way. "Oh, I dunno. In Davy's cabin, I think. Something about her dress being the wrong color."

Hm…okay. Sylar walked over, Ragetti being busy with his other fangirls. "Shouldn't you go check on her? You are the maid of honor."

Oops. That was one of my honorary duties, wasn't it? Thanking Sylar for his sound advice, I hurried to the captain's cabin—after getting directions from Maccus, of course.

"Jacky?" I pounded on the door. "Jacky! What are you doing? Get your almost-married backside out here at once, or else I'm going to drag it out!" When there was no answer, I huffed loudly. "JackySparrowsRum, don't make my kick this door down!" Subtlety not being one of my grandest virtues.

When there was still silence, I followed through precisely with my threat. The door came crashing down Jack Bauer-style, and I stepped through the threshold.

To my surprise, the cabin was completely empty—save for a letter folded neatly on the organ, addressed to me.

**................**

"Bad news, everyone." I announced, reappearing on deck. "Turns out Davy and Jacky Jones have eloped."

**...............**

My eyes snapped open, and I was confronted with my cat, who was sitting on my chest and effectively making it harder to breathe. I cocked an eyebrow at her. "What are you looking at?"

She merely meowed and proceeded to lay down on me. I sighed heavily. "Listen, you better get use to regular cat food, because I'm not feeding you the chicken salad…"

Indignant, she gave me a dirty look that clearly said: _You had best explain, lady._

"It'll do some funky stuff to you."

* * *


	14. Mask

Hey everyone! So sorry I haven't been around...but now I'm back in business! Remember how I promised I was breaking out of my comfort zone? Well...I did!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

Genre: General

* * *

**Masquerade**

Everyone here was a wearing mask; there was no questioning that fact. The masks were all very elaborate, laughing and sighing and nodding mechanically, without true emotion carrying in the action. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you could catch the slip of a mask—a young woman yawning as her older companion recounted some tale, a man looking quickly away from his friends to catch the eye of a woman.

But there were those in the crowded ballroom so accustom to wearing a mask it felt more like a second skin than anything else.

A young Hector Barbossa, his features still whole and youthful, twirled a young maiden around gracefully on the floor. What was her name? Rose? Yes, he believed it was Rose. It didn't matter, really. What truly mattered was that dapper diamond necklace draped delicately around her neck and the gleaming jewels resting on her fingers.

The silly young woman fluttered her eyes at Hector, and he smiled gently. Just one more part of the act, one more pointless motion that would bring him nearer and nearer to that shining reward.

Too late, Hector realized his mask had fallen for a moment, and the young woman had seen the wolfish gleam of greed in his eyes. She frowned and pulled away slightly.

Trying not to show his panic, Hector reassembled the mask, feeling it's familiar weight upon him once more. The young woman angled her head suspiciously but it allow herself to be pulled back into his arms, stepping in time with the lively music.

Hector, however, was cursing himself for being so foolish.

He couldn't afford to let the mask slip again.

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Hope you liked it!


	15. Alive

A fic dedicated to my buddy The Chaplain! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

Genre: Spiritual(?)(Perhaps.)

* * *

**Death And Half-Life**

"I'll take my chances, sir."  
He knew his fate was sealed the moment those words crested over his lips and into open air. Not that it matter terribly. At this point, he had decided that Death would be far more preferable than the wretched half-life being offered to him.

As if the universe understood that his doom was inevitable, he began to have a heightened sense of awareness of things; the slimy deck, the slight drizzle, the air sharp with sea salt and sweat, punctuated by the heaving breath of the surrounding sailors. The cold and uncaring knife against his neck, breaking his skin.

At the moment the Chaplain died, he'd never felt more alive.

* * *


	16. Innuendo

The prompt? "Nautical jargon used as innuendo." My instant thought? "How do I make a chaplain get increasingly embarrassed about his love life...or lack thereof?"

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of it's wonderful characters...

Warning: Major Chaplain Bashing! OH NO! Contains OC from "Taking Chances"!

Genre: Humor

* * *

**Lack Thereof**

"Hoist the mainsail." Finch muttered.

Isaiah glanced at her with an arched eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Finch's response was: "Weigh anchor!"

Isaiah frowned. "I…wait. What?"

"Hard to port! Hard to starboard!" By now, Finch was in a fit of mad giggles.

Confused beyond words, Isaiah sniffed her half-empty bottle of whatever-it-was she was drinking. "You're not drunk. You're acting to normally for that."

Finch grinned. "Thanks. I was just thinking about something."

"Care to enlighten me?" Isaiah took the words back instantly. "On second thought…"

But it was too late. Finch had all but pounced on him. "Did you ever notice how most nautical terms seem to be innuendos?"

The chaplain turned bright red, which Finch privately looked very cute. He scrambled to his feet. "I don't really think I should be talking about this."

"You chaplains and your silly moral values." Finch waved a hand around. "C'mon! You're going to stand there and tell me you've never notice? "Hold fast"? "Raise the gangplank"? "Full canvas"?" she spewed off in a tirade of wonderful innuendos, and Isaiah could tell Finch was garnering great pleasure from her overly-active imagination.

He backed up slowly. "Finch…please, really…it's very uncomfortable for me…"

His earnest distress popped Finch's bubble. She tilted her head and studied him and his burning red face. "Oh. Sorry. It's about that whole celibacy vow thingy you gents have to take, isn't it? I mean," her brow furrowed. "Didn't you take one of those? So that would mean…" her mouth opened in a slight _o_ as she came to the conclusion. "Isaiah Kilpatrick, are you a virgin?"

_Only Finch_. Isaiah thought as his face went from red to white in a matter of seconds. _Would have come to that answer so easily and so accurately._

"YOU ARE!" Finch raised a hand to her mouth in shock. "YOU ARE A VIRGIN!"

"Would you keep it down?!" Isaiah hissed, looking around to make sure that no one—not even Cotton and his parrot—was around. "Please…I don't really want people gossiping about my erotic history—"

"Or lack thereof." Finch smirked.

Isaiah shot her a look that plainly wished her nothing more than ten thousand years in Hell. Sighing, Finch stood and patted his arm. "No need to worry, mate. I won't tell a soul."

And, for one odd reason or another, Isaiah felt inclined to trust her.

* * *

Hehehehe....poor Isaiah. =P


	17. Mary Sue

A Mary Sue in the Caribbean! OH, THE HORROR! XD What happens when a Sue tries to seduce Ragetti...not knowing my OC is just around the corner? (And for those of you who don't know Glory, you should know that she never, ever gets this angry. But this a parody! Let the madness commence!)

Also, this is my first attempt at a Mary Sue! So...yay!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its woderful characters...

Genre: Parody

* * *

**A Sue's Glory**

"Hello, I'm Jade Rosanne Amaryllis Hannah Carolyn Hershey Maria Josephina Scarlett Diana Fate O'Malley."

Ragetti turned very slowly at the sound of the beautiful, harmonious voice that got charm the birds out of the trees and the bees from their nests. "Can I help you?" (No one seemed to notice his accent was gone.)

The most gorgeous woman he had ever seen was standing on the deck of the _Black Pearl_, appearing there seemingly out of nowhere. Her hair was shimmering blonde, glittering in the sunlight. Her lips were full and red; her skin was pale and perfect. Her wide and innocent eyes were constantly changing colors.

"OH YES!" Jade exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "You could help me! I can't remember anything about my past or my family; except that maybe I'm harboring a dark secret that threatened everyone I knew and loved. I'm also terribly ill—" At that point, she fell over onto the deck with a soft, girly sigh.

Ragetti caught her on her way down. "Please! Don't worry! I'll take care of you!" (Again, no one seemed concerned at his lack of accent).

"Oh! Ragetti!" Jade's eyes fluttered at him. "I have just had the strangest revelation! You and I are meant to be together forever and forever!" She touched his face, instantly healing his face and allowing a bright blue eye to grow in the right socket.

"I've been healed!" Ragetti cried, hugging Jade close to his chest. "Jade, you and I shall be together until the end of time! I swear!"

They kissed right there in front of the entire crew—

And Glory came down from the crow's nest. She stared at Jade and Ragetti for a moment. "Rags?"

Ragetti's head snapped up to stare at Glory, his face smeared with Jade's lipstick. "Glory…I can explain…"

Glory, however, was not in the mood to negotiate. "YOU FREAKING MARY SUE!" she shouted, grabbing Jade by the arm and dragging her up. Jade protested at the force, claiming she was too delicate for such actions.

"SHUT UP!" Glory snapped. "AND LEARN HOW TO BE A PROPER OC!"

"Oh…the shouting…my head…" Jade swooned.

Glory gnashed her teeth in fury. "Don't you ever try to make a move on Ragetti again!"

She then punched Jade dead in the nose. The accursed Mary Sue fell over the side of the _Black_ _Pearl _and collapsed into the sea. Glory sneered as the Mary Sue disappeared under the waves. "_Buon Viaggi_, bitch."

She wheeled back around to arch an eyebrow at Ragetti. He lowered his eye—the other becoming properly wooden once more—in embarrassment. "Sorry, Glory. Don't know wot go' a hold o' meh."

"It's alright, Rags." Glory grinned. "Just promise me that you'll do the same for me when I fall for a Gary Stu."

**..................**

Captain Teague twirled his moustache as he studied the stowaway brought before him. "And your name is…"

"My name is Jade Rosanne Amaryllis Hannah Carolyn Hershey Maria…"

* * *

Note: Alright, so we all know Glory doesn't speak Italian! I've been listening to "Night Surgeon" since Sunday, and Pavi's line: _"Or else is Buon Viaggi!"_ ("Buon Viaggi" is Italian for "Good trip. Like, "have a good trip." I believe. Freedom can verify it, can't you? Please?) Still makes me giggle insanely, so that's just a nod at Pavi and his craziness!


	18. Candle

It's about time I got my response up. 'Nuff said. (Thanks to Freedom for telling me how to spell Pelegosto!)

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of it's wonderful characters...

Genre: Humor

* * *

**Jack Be Nimble**

Jack stared at the little flame for a moment, silently pleading with it to stay just where it was. However, the minuscule little spark hopped onto the pile of straw, catching fire. Jack stared at it for a moment, wiggled at little at the restraints that kept him hanging over the cheerfully expanding fire. He jumped again, desperately trying to free himself. Those bloody Pelegostos would be back any minute…

_Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candlestick._

The odd little ditty came rolling into his head, not all together unbidden. Annoyed, Jack bounced himself again to free his head of the ridiculous rhyme.

_Jack be nimble…_

Now the heat of the flames licked his face temptingly.

_Jack be quick…_

Jack bounced again, higher.

_Jack! Jump over the candlestick!_

To Jack's complete surprise, he was able to bounce to high that he sprung off the stakes in the ground, landing in dust.

And, more importantly, away from the fire.

_

* * *

_And we all know what happens next. ;)


	19. Priority

Inspired by the picture hurricane1714 showed me. :P Thanks, Hurricane! I appreciate it!

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

Genre: Humor/Parody

* * *

**Boys**

"Oh! The heat!" Elizabeth swooned and fell dramatically.

But her normally avid admirers had suddenly found something new to fight over—something besides her—and none bothered to cast a glance her way.

Elizabeth stared at Jack, James, and Will. Jack—well, she had expected this out of him. But James and William—she was the priority in their lives! She was the one that they were supposed to fight over, not some smelly old chest! How dare those…those…boys! Those beef-witted featherbrained rattleskulled clodpated dimdomed noodle-noggined saphead lunk-knobbed _boys_.

_They were supposed to be fighting over her._

Elizabeth huffed in exasperation and crossed her arms over her chest.

After a moment of unsuccessful pouting, Lizzie noticed ol' one-eye and his balding friend darting across the beach, holding that wretched chest.

She looked from one group of boys to the other, and scrambled up.

_Humph. _

Who needed roguish pirate captains, dashing blacksmiths, and charming ex-commodores when you had Pintel and Ragetti?

* * *

"...beef-witted featherbrained rattleskulled clodpated dimdomed noodle-noggined saphead lunk-knobbed _boys_." Comes from The Princess Bride. I don't own that either.

**S. Morgenstern and William Goldman rock!**


	20. Music

Well, I suppose you can just blame this on the sadly sadistic mood I've been in lately.

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

Genre: Horror(?)

* * *

**Music To The Ears**

Mercer drove the knife deeper into the kneeling man's chest, watching with a sort of sadistic pleasure as the poor man's eyes widened in horror. Blood poured from the chest wound and spilled out onto the dirt. Ignoring the dying man's pleas for mercy, Mercer picked through his pockets until he found what he was looking for.

"Aha." Mercer smirked. "S'a mighty terrible thing, to be harborin' secrets such as this. Shame on you, Captain Hawkins." He stood the man up, watching with a slight smile as the light died from Captain Hawkin's eyes. The sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention.

"Captain, Captain…"

With one fluid motion, Mercer ejected his knife from the dead body and whipped out his handkerchief. He eyed Weatherby Swann with amusement. "Evenin', Gov'na. Shame, that." He nodded towards the body of Captain Hawkins but didn't take his eyes off Swann.

"He was carrying this," Mercer revealed the letter. "S'a letter to the king. And it's from you."

Swann's gasp of horror was music, sweet music, to Mercer's wicked ears.

* * *

Hm...so, I've never actually written Mercer...I hope I did his accent justice...


	21. Clown

It's not a drabble...but I suppose you guys aren't going to kill me for that, are you?

This was partly inspired by the fact that I've noticed a lot of people debate on how Jack would react to having a kid around...but what about the other members of the crew? How would they deal with it?

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters....

**Genre: Humor/Family**

* * *

**Apples**

"Shut 'er up, Rags!"

"I'm tryin', Pint! Nuffin is workin'!"

Ragetti pursed his lips together in deep thought. He studied the screaming bundle of rags in Pintel's arms. The thing that faintly resembled a human child was a fascinating shade of blue, punching and kicking the air with a maniacal force. Pintel glanced at Ragetti in thinly concealed desperation. "Help!"

"Well…" Ragetti looked around the street without a clue of what he has looking for. He and Pintel had been wandering around the streets of Tortuga when the faint wails of a baby had caught the attention of both. Finding the apparently abandoned little girl had been the easy part—calming her down was the tricky bit. Ragetti swept the alley with his gaze again; a crate of apples sat nearby.

And Ragetti was hit with inspiration.

"Wotch this, kid!" Ragetti exclaimed. He picked up three apples and began to juggle them.

Pintel scowled at him. "Quit clownin' 'round! This ain't the toime fer games, Rags!" he roared.

The baby, however, thought otherwise. It had stopped its frightful cries, watching this new sport with a furrowed brow. After a moment, the corners of the little creature's mouth began to twitch upwards in a faint smile. Ragetti looked at her with triumphant expression, forgetting for a moment that he was juggling with apples.

He dropped one on his head.

Pintel and Ragetti tensed instantly, waiting for the cries to resume. Instead, they were met with a miraculous sound: laughter.

Actual, real laughter.

Dazed, Ragetti picked up the fallen apple and tossed it into the air, allowing it to land on his head. The baby giggled wildly. Pintel frowned, beginning to catch on. Still holding the infant, he picked up an apple and threw at Ragetti.

"Ouch!" Ragetti yelped as it hit him in the chest. "Wot the heck was—"

He was interrupted because the baby was now howling—in the good way. Pintel hit him again, listening to the baby scream with wild joy. After about ten more rounds of pummeling poor Ragetti, the baby was content in Pintel's arms, looking for all the world a little angel.

Ragetti rubbed the back of his head. Pondering the thing, he stole a look at Pintel. "Wot do we do now?"

* * *

*dodges flying plot bunnies*

P.S.: If you haven't already, check out Belphegor's funny and accurate fic about a baby on the _Black Pearl_! It comes highly recommended!


	22. Evil

Wow, it's been a long time since I've written anything! Who missed me? ...*cricket, cricket*...Ah, I figured as much...

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

**Genre: Horror/Supernatural**

_

* * *

_

**Dove-feathered Raven**

_Evil._

The air was dank with it, the wood of the ship stank with it, and even the simple spray of sea water seemed to be tainted with the foulness.

_Evil._

This man—no, not a man, a demon! A demon come to collect the souls of the damned, that's what he was—he was the embodiment of doom, in its wicked entirety. His cold eyes glinted with a gleeful maliciousness as he watched the poor wretches kneeling before him, the master of a ship crewed by slaves—slaves that had no hope for freedom, nor of the thankful release that was Death.

The demon knelt down to study one of his captives, a whimpering, shaking man to whom Death eyed with anticipation. The fellow's pitiful moans increased as he realized the demon stared at him, and tears ran unchecked down his face.

The heartless devil cocked his head to the side, allowed a small smirk devoid of any humor to creep up his unnatural face. This one, this wretch, would be a perfect addition to the crew. And so the demon began to speak, using a tongue of silver and a voice of softest silk, a voice that promised no harm would come to the man—as long as he obeyed.

"Do you fear death?"

* * *

A/N: Title comes from a passage in "Romeo and Juliet": "_Dove-feathered raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, a damned saint, an honorable villian!"_

Hopefully everyone gets the reference here. :)


	23. Touch

Rated **M**. (Or, at the very least, watered-down M). It's not 100-words either...

A/N: Watermelon and cake to Freedom for her quick beta work! Thanks so much! :D

**Genre: Romance**

* * *

**Unintended Miracles**

Sex didn't come without the occasional consequence.

Glory and Ragetti had learned that lesson the hard way.

And yet, as Glory laid a hand on her now completely inflated stomach—one hand feeling for the tiny kicks she knew symbolized that her child_,__their_ child, was there—she couldn't help but smile, recalling the memory fondly.

**…….**

Ragetti had been extremely nervous; it was to be expected from him, the one who never had had very much luck with women. Glory was forced to coax him into the hold, where they would have plenty of privacy. Once there, it was her duty to talk to him, keep him calm, even as she slowly shrugged off his jacket, and his dingy maroon shirt…

But he caught her as she reached for his pants, preparing to toss them away. "Yeh no' serious," he whispered.

"Serious as you are skinny." Glory grinned, poking him in the slightly-visible ribs.

"But…" Ragetti was hard-pressed to find an argument, especially with Glory pressed up against his body, warm, and wild and willingly.

It was sort of a dance, really; two young and eager dancers struggling to learn how to waltz without making fools of themselves. Some were eager to compare sex to a love song; a poem of deepest desires and tainted innocence, but for Glory and Ragetti, the song was fast and cheery, full of life and vigor.

It was an unintended miracle, that night. They caressed each other gently, lips rarely separating; both intoxicated by the simplicity of each other's presence.

**……**

Unintended miracles.

Glory smiled gently, closing her eyes in exhaustion. That's what the baby was—a miracle that wasn't supposed to have come about, but a welcomed one, once the shock wore off. Things hadn't been the same since that warm night in the Caribbean…

Miracles, all of it.

* * *


	24. Reflection

I have to dedicate this to two people, even though it has nothing to do with them :P: First, to my lil' bro, the only one willing to rock out to the Oompa Loompa songs with me, and second, to my best friend in the entire world, who cheers my day up without even trying: "Kick him in the other knee!" :)

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC or any of its wonderful characters...

**Genre: Angst**

* * *

**Within**

James Norrington leaned in onto the counter, listening only dully to the roar of the pub crowd in the background. Thugs. Ruffians. The disgraces of society. His grip tightened on the tankard in his hand. _The disgraces—I'm a part of them now._

He lifted the tankard, and as he did caught a part of his reflection on the glass. Brows were knitted together in a mixture of shock along with confusion. Is that what he _really_ looked like? Unkempt hair spilling out from a filthy wig. His eyes were sunken deep into his face, his skin an ill color, and his mouth settled into an abnormally hard line. His clothes were disgusting, and James could only imagine what he must have smelled like.

He set the bottle down with a churning stomach.

What was outside only reflected what was within...

* * *


	25. Erato

**WARNING: RATED M**

_Erato_

_Genre: Romance_

**Disclaimer: I do not own PotC. Nytd and Bandicoot have Barbossa under lock and key. Solomon's character belongs to a good friend of mine, I'm just borrowing him. The only ones I own are Abby and the Italian. **

* * *

She was unimpressed and her expression revealed it.

Panicked, Solomon pressed himself against her body harder, driving his dry, chapped lips against her soft red ones even as his hands slid down her supple and—most likely—veteran body. Though she appeared young, perhaps even younger than Solomon, the way her body rocked and swayed in unison with his uncomfortable movements suggested that she was a master at her trade.

And, right now, the pupil was failing to meet the teacher's impressive standards.

Oh, she moaned when she needed to, praised him between airy breaths, gently allowed her fingers to slide down his thin frame as he nuzzled her neck.

But the flame he so desperately sought to ignite within her… _it just was not there_.

Granted, the _Snapped Mast_ tavern was not the ideal place to seduce a woman, even such a woman as a prostitute. The place that was most infamous for drinking and merry-making looked ready to collapse in upon itself, a trait that had not stopped Tortuga's underbelly from swelling into her.

The floor where Solomon and his lady now laid was caked with dirt and slick with spilled drinks and other such things the lad would rather not have thought about. The rotund bartender, Horris, and the matron of the tavern, Beth, had their hands full tonight, paying more attention to filling orders and effectively ejecting any buffoon drunken enough to pick a fight with them.

Neither of them seemed to care about who was doing what with whom on the common room floor.

Quickly, Solomon pulled the prostitute up, grinning sheepishly. "We should go to a back room." he gestured in the direction of the back of the _Snapped Mast_, where rooms had been constructed courteously for such uses as making the "cannon go boom".

She simply shook her head. "They're full. All of them."

He glanced behind to study the rooms. Sure enough, sounds that ranged from impressive to cringe-worthy came from each and every room, despite the thick doors that was set in front of each. Suddenly self-conscious, Solomon glanced back at his 'guest'. She was waiting with thin, dark eyebrows arched. He shifted. "Shall…shall we get it on, here, then?"

She smiled. "Certainly."

_Of course. She must have forsaken her dignity long ago_. Nervously, he stepped towards her, biting on his lip. "I'm…a bit new to this."

She blinked. "How new?" There was an unexpected edge to her voice, one that Solomon, had he been a braver man, might have bristled at.

Instead, the slim fellow merely rolled to the balls of his feet. "Relatively."

Brown eyes were lit with contempt now, but her luscious mouth dissolved into a friendly smile. "Of course. Come on, then," She beckoned him back to the floor, where she began to strip him of his articles of clothing and vice versa.

Before the poor lad was ready, he was nearly naked on top of her, her head thrown back in mocking ecstasy. "Go on, then," she breathed, "take me. Take me now." Her fingernails dug into his flesh, her eyes glazed dramatically.

Solomon winced and took a shuddering breath. "Are you comfortable?" He wanted to make sure she was alright with her position before going ahead.

"As comfortable as I'll ever be." The reply was sweet, but accompanied with an undertone that merely hinted at her impatience.

Slowly, with many hesitations and awkward grimaces, he began to enter her.

That was, of course, until a hand came down on his shoulder.

Solomon looked up swiftly, expecting to see Horris the bartender standing behind him.

Instead, it was an older man, taller and thinner, with a distinguished air about him that instantly made the virgin feel smaller than usual. This new man's face was lined with age and riddled with scars, and yet he could not call it ugly. Long tresses of hair flowed from beneath a feathered hat, hair that matched well with the man's beard.

His yellowed eyes silently took in the scene before him. "Lad, if ye want to seduce a woman the proper way, I suggest ye don't tell 'er yer a virgin."

A furious blush crept up Solomon's face and he leapt to his feet. "And just who are you, ready to give me orders?" He was fully aware of the fact that he was half-naked and the older man possessed not only a cutlass but a pistol as well, but the fact of the matter was that he had been insulted far too many times tonight for his liking, and Solomon was not going to take it anymore.

The elder simply arched his eyebrows. "Lad, if ye want to risk looking like a moon-calf in front o' yer guest, by all means continue. But if ye want to learn the correct way to pleasure a fine young lady, I would suggest tha' ye let me proceed from here." There was a warning carried in the pleasant tone and in an instant Solomon backed off.

"Now," The older man swept his hat off and bowed to the prostitute, who was still on the floor, "may I ask fer the fair lady's name?"

"Her name is—" Solomon froze in horror. Not once during this night had he even bothered to ask the prostitute's name. Shame-faced, he slunk back into the shadows.

"Erato." The prostitute barely gave Solomon a glance as she studied the older man, clearly pleased with his courtesy. Her trained eye told her that this was a man who could give her exactly what she craved—and perhaps a bit more.

The older man clucked his tongue. "Greek muse o' erotic poetry? I doubt, m'lady, tha' tha' happens to be the name bestowed upon ye at birth. If ye would be so kind as to be tellin' me yer true name."

Erato blinked in surprised. "It's Abigail. And you are?"

"Fine name ye have there, m'lady." The man chuckled. "Ye can call me Captain Barbossa, if ye like."

Solomon recoiled sharply. _Captain_ _Barbossa?_ _The _Captain Barbossa? He was about to be shown up by the Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea?

Evidently Abigail had come to the same conclusion. She was scrambling up now, her body trembling with eagerness. She had heard tale time and again of the pirate, whose ferocity at seas was matched only by his ferocity in bed. She inched closer to him, fascinated despite herself.

The corner of Barbossa's mouth twitched upwards. "I believe tha' a private room is necessary fer us, Abby. Rollin' around on this floor would not serve me purpose well." Behind him, Solomon scowled.

"But…" Abigail glanced towards the back rooms, "they're all full."

"Are they, now?"

Barbossa strode forward into the crowd with Abigail at his heels. Solomon opted to stay where he was.

The Pirate Lord studied one of the thick doors intently. Behind it, the groans and moans sounded false and forced, like someone was trying to convince themselves that they were having a good time. Barbossa raised one eyebrow, but didn't say a word as he kicked the door in.

A man and a woman jerked up in bed in shock, both nude, both panting for breath. The man roared in fury when he saw Barbossa standing calmly in his doorway. "STRONZO!" He grabbed for his pistol and scrambled up. "Esci! Esci, stronzo!"

Barbossa knew a good smattering of Italian, and what he didn't know he could have a guess at. "Basta!" The pirate pointed towards the door. "Esci."

The Italian looked murderous. Behind him, his woman clutched at the bed sheets in fright. His pistol had not moved from its spot on Barbossa's heart. "Assolutamente no."

"Oh?" Barbossa calmly withdrew his cutlass and aimed the tip at the Italian's exposed parts. "Then ye might prepare to explain to yer woman why ye can no longer satisfy her this fine evenin'."

The Italian may not have understood the words, but the concept behind them was enough. Scowling, he collected his clothes and barged out the door, shoving his shoulder into a relatively surprised Abigail on the way out. Once he was out the door, the Italian wheeled around and gestured to the woman. "Esci! Esci, puttana!"

The woman slipped on her dress and followed the Italian into the crowd, but not before giving Barbossa and Abigail her own level look. Abigail glared at her, but Barbossa didn't give her a second glance as he walked over to the bed. "Will ye shut the door, miss?"

Abigail obliged him. When she turned around again, Barbossa was already out of his shirt and had almost forsaken his pants. The feathered hat was gone, as were the boots and weapons. He nodded towards her politely. "Are ye plannin' on joining me in bed this evein'?"

She tossed her hair back. "But of course."

**.........**

There were moments in a prostitute's life that they would much rather forget—memories of rough men, long nights, and unsteady virgins who had no idea of what they were doing. Tonight, for Abigail, was not one of those nights. A rare cry of intense pleasure burst from her lips, again and again as he thrust himself into her—easy at first, like simple comrades, but harder and harder as time slipped by. A fiery heat burst forth in her stomach, searing her body and causing her heart to race. She arched herself underneath the pirate, grasping him, murmuring his name as he showed her just what being a master entitled.

He withdrew for the slightest of instances and she felt like weeping. And once he was back, a manic laugh bubbled up within her, making her feel as light as air.

Once it was over, Abigail sighed deeply in pleasure. She felt as though she and Barbossa had been entwined for an eternity, even though she knew the reality was far shorter. Next to her, Barbossa stretched, lithe as an old tomcat who still knew the game. She played with his hair lightly, a smile dancing about her lips. "You're a god."

"Aye, lass, I shan't be one to deny tha'." He chuckled.

"And here I was thinking that I'd have to spend all damned night with that boy." She didn't care to mask her disgust.

Barbossa glanced at her. "I wouldn't be too hard upon the lad. Ye may 'ave forgotten in all yer nights o' splendor, but ye were once a virgin yerself."

Abigail merely shook her head in amusement.

**..........**

When Barbossa stepped out of the room—fully clothed and with his hat tipped at a smart angle—the first thing he saw was Solomon.

He hadn't moved from where they had left him, save only for slipping down the way. His face buried in his hands in shame, and Barbossa might have been under the impression he was crying, except for that Solomon heaved a hefty sigh and lifted his face up to study the ceiling—a face that was thankfully devoid of tears.

Barbossa swaggered over to the younger man. "Abby's waitin' fer ye, lad. I don't think ye'd be doin' 'er a service by keepin' the lady."

Solomon glanced up at him, startled. "What?"

Barbossa patted his shoulder. "Good sex 'as the power to melt even the stoniest o' complexions. I suggest ye take 'er now while she's still as soft as dough…"

"But, I thought—" Solomon stood, confused and grateful.

The pirate smiled and winked. "Lad, we were all virgins once."

* * *

I'd like to thank FreedomoftheSeas for the beta, as well as all of her fantastic advice! :)

I also have thank Nytd for giving me the idea, my buddy Gialla111 for giving me the courage to go through with the idea and for letting me steal the nervous virgin for a few days, and for all my readers out there whom I'm sure will give me a honest opinion on my very first hardcore smut scene!

~ChaosandMayhem


End file.
